


Supplicant

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9480488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Post-Milagro. Mulder takes Scully back to her apartment after her attack.





	

She picks through her clothes and her emotions all at once. Crazily she thinks of putting on another suit, then she cries, then she chooses a cotton t-shirt and some jogging shorts, then she wonders what it’ll cost to fix the wall if she punches a hole straight through it. 

She throws the blood-stained shirt and jacket into her hamper, but she’ll throw it in the trash when he leaves. Then she’ll carry the trash to the dumpster even though she just put in a new bag that morning.

She doesn’t punch a hole in the wall and her eyes are bone dry when she walks into the living room. He’s on the couch, watching her like she’s predator and not prey. It’s a welcome change. She ignores his following gaze as she fills her electric kettle with water. Maybe she’ll run a bath or scream herself hoarse. It doesn’t matter. As long as he gets the hell out of her apartment.

He won’t, though. Her tea is steeped and her hair is dry from her shower when he decides to break the silence.   
  
“Scully. What happened here?” It’s gentle but that will pass.

“You caught yourself a killer,” she replies dully. Not waiting for her tea to cool down, she takes a sip and it burns so good her tastebuds will be weak for days. 

Maybe he senses a defensiveness that isn’t really there. No, this time she is a broken-in show pony, ready to behave the way she needs to behave in order to get him to leave. She’s conceding. He was right. A tortured, jackass writer summoned a demon surgeon or whatever to tear her heart straight from her body. And she almost fucked him. Congratulations, Mulder, now please leave.

But he takes her statement as defensive, and responds defensively in kind. “You jeopardized this case, Scully. You should have backed off when you realized you were inappropriately involved.” 

“Yes.”

Somehow, somewhere along the way, Mulder has lost his ability to be patient with her, to be kind to her, for an extended amount of time. He’s on the clock. His comfort, his empathy, his love are all commodities he loans out and expects interest if you don’t pay him back in time. Just an hour ago he was holding her to him like she might float away. 

“You defended this creep.” He’s worked himself up, shoving away from her couch and pacing the floor. “What is it, Dana? What is it about dangerous fucking psychopaths that turns you on?”  
  
Dreamily she thinks it’s nice that anger comes naturally, a rational response to a dickhead tantrum. It means she isn’t numb, just slow right now. He’s never spoken to her like this before, so she decides to surprise him back.

“I wonder if Diana knows where I am right now.”  
  
“Scully,” he warns. He bears his teeth like he thinks he’s as threatening as a man who throws women in furnaces. 

“Or if she saw me hanging out in Ruskin Dam.”

“Stop it!”  
  
“Does she know how many times I got up from my bed to vomit in the sink when the chemo was so bad? The chip can’t be that accurate, do you think? Did she keep track of when I had to pee in a cup to prove I was a fit mother for my little girl?”  
  
In two long strides, he stalks over to her and yanks her away from the breakfast bar. Her wrists in his large hands are stronger than she knows he expects them to be. She doesn’t struggle but she doesn’t yield.

“Goddammit Scully,” he yells, but he sounds far away. “What is your problem? Do you want to leave?”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“The yell you don’t.” He tightens his grip and pulls her flush against him, forcing intimacy to make her feel uncomfortable, not loved. “You can’t even look at me. We got the X-Files back and you won’t even talk to me. I call and you don’t answer.” 

“Yes I do,” she says indignantly. She’ll give in to being berated but patent untruths will not be tolerated.

“Not every time. Not like you used to.”

Unconsciously he’s stroking her wrists, pulling up on the fine bones like one would a cat’s tail. Maybe it’s conscious. He looks like he wants to pet her soul.

“I am your partner,” she says dizzily. The stroking motions warm her entire body and make her seasick. I am melting, melting. “I am not your secretary, I am not –” she sucks air in through her teeth, he’s now massaging her fingers. “I am not your secretary.” 

“I don’t want you to be my secretary. I want you to answer my calls.” He brings her hand to his mouth and presses his plump lower lip to her sticky palm. It feels like a hot wax-seal. 

“Fuck you, Mulder,” she says, without any bite. “You – this year you’ve made me feel… oh.”   
  
“Made you feel what?” He delves his tongue between her pointer and index fingers, lapping at the soft web and pulling them into his mouth.

“Like you – Jesus.” It’s too much already. How did they get here. Her emotional outbursts are scaring her more than Mulder’s weirdly sexy and horribly-timed seduction. “Like I don’t matter. Like I – like I’m one of Them because I’m not sure about a-aliens.” 

It’s jarring when he stops, like he’s smacked her in the face or tried to rip her heart from her body with his mind. He’s grabbing her by the bones of her cheeks and forcing her to look up, up, where his eyes are so bewildered and confused, because Fox Mulder only latently knows he’s a jerk and is perpetually surprised when someone calls him out on it. 

He doesn’t say sorry. He kisses her and Scully wishes he had said sorry first. But the kiss is wonderful, tight and wet and his mouth is so lush and inviting. When she tries to pull away he pulls her closer, when she tries to suck his tongue into her mouth he pulls away.  
  
“Scully,” he gulps wetly, licking his teeth. “Scully.”

Something in her snaps when he tries to rub her nipple through her t-shirt. Why does he seem to love her best when she’s compliant? Why are all men like this? She slaps his fingers away and shoves him back, then shoves him down on his knees. He drops too hard on the kitchen floor. 

She yanks her nylon shorts down her legs and kicks them away. Mulder positively keens, moving toward her mouth-first like he isn’t even in control of his body. His hands wrap around her ankles and his cheek is rubbing against her auburn curls. It’s as reverent as it is absolutely willful. Scully grips his hair with both hands and tugs him away, hard. 

“No,” she hisses. He stares up at her with two dark worshipful eyes and a red, slick mouth. Panting like a dog. He stills, ready to be trained. When she slowly releases his hair he doesn’t move and she pets him gently in wonder. 

It’s awkward. She has to prop her knee on the barstool and bend his head back a little, but when her pussy finally makes contact with his face, time stands still and she just holds him close for a minute, closing her eyes at the feeling of him breathing her in. Greedy, desperate gulps of air. She knows she is slick down to her thighs. It’s got to be all over him, now. 

“You can use your tongue,” she bites out. He goes in straight for the kill, licking wide stripes over her clitoris with the flat of his tongue. God, she wants to see his eyes as he does this but he’s pressed too close to her. When she pulls away he follows right behind, sucking her plump, soaking labia into his mouth and nuzzling her mons with the bridge of his nose. She hadn’t told him to do that but who cares. 

When he ignores her clit for too long, she drags him back up and grinds herself over his chin, his pretty mouth. He stops moving at all, lets her ride his lips and tongue like he’s nothing but a pillow, a sex-toy, her fingers, an object. But he hums the whole way, a maddening vibration that thrums through her entire body. 

She almost makes herself come this way, rutting her cunt against his pliant face like he’s nothing. It feels wrong somehow. She holds him still against her for another moment, burrowing her cheek into her shoulder and breathing deeply until she feels weighted by it.

“Make me come,” she moans. He’s quick to take hold of the control she’s relinquished, spreading her with his thumbs and quite literally diving in. He fucks her that way, with deep, flickering pulls of his fat tongue. His nose rubs into her clit and he forces her to widen her stance so he has access to more of her. No hands. She’s glad for it. Penetration that way or any other way wouldn’t work for her right now, he’s already always so deep inside her. 

The sheer length of her orgasm is a bonafide X-File. She comes and she comes and she comes, flexing her fingers in his hair, around his neck, clenching little handfuls of his back and shoulders. Mulder kisses her all the way through it, suckling little kisses around the hood of her clitoris and her entrance that make her hips stutter and her IQ drop. He doesn’t stop until she’s for sure done, no longer gripping at his tongue or running her fingers through his hair.  
  
They stay like this a little while, him pressed as close to her as he could possibly be. Their breathing patterns match, harsh and uneven, and they pant together while Scully pets his hair like she owns him.   
  
When they catch their breath and come apart, Mulder softly kisses her belly over her t-shirt and stands up. His knees crack and he says a stupid joke about being too old. Too old for what? Certainly not this. 

There are tears in her eyes when Mulder grabs her shorts and helps her step back into them. He’s so hard he winces with every move he makes and she can see him pulsing against the front of his slacks like a frantic heartbeat. He tells her he just wants to kiss her awhile, can they do that? Of course, she says. They make out on her couch and she doesn’t make him come, but she does ask him to carry her soiled suit to the dumpster when he returns to his car. 

That night he calls her later than she’d like and she answers happily. Scully, come into the office tomorrow. Mulder, it’s a Saturday. I know Scully, but I need your help going through some newspaper obituaries. Okay Mulder, she says. I’ll be there. 


End file.
